Picture Perfect
by santasweets
Summary: Rose Weasley is about to discover that even for a family of war heroes, all is never as it seems. Sometimes growing up means learning the line between good and evil isn't always as clearly drawn as we have been taught.


**Prologue**

The sky mirrored Ron's mood. Low-hanging clouds stretched overhead, completely obscuring the sun and painting the world an unfriendly grey. Harry and Ginny were a few steps in front of him, fingers entwined and shoulders touching as they trudged silently along the weeded path through the woods behind the Burrow.

His mum had insisted they all get out of the house for a while, claiming fresh air was "good for the soul" with a firmness that belied the weariness that had settled over her face. Picturing her preternaturally set mouth and bright eyes, Ron had to admire the strength she had managed to summon - and keep - throughout the ordeal of the past two weeks. _Not hard to figure out why we all ended up in Gryffindor._

Hermione was next to him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He hadn't been able to look at her for nearly a week. She had cried into his chest at the heart-wrenching parade of funerals right after the final battle, but they'd had no physical contact since the last ceremony... Fred's, six days before. Yet she seemed to know whenever he needed her, and hadn't left his side since they'd arrived back at the Burrow. He couldn't even _look _at her, and she was still there. Lying still on his bed next to him at night. Curled up on the couch next to him after dinner. Sitting beside him under the maple tree in the garden during the hot spring afternoons. Sometimes she'd have a book, but most of the time she was simply there. And she never spoke unless he said something to her first. Even then, she'd respond only to answer his question, never pushing for more. She knew he needed the quiet, the space, to grieve. He didn't cry the way the rest of his family did. And she didn't try to force him to. She was just... _there._

Always there. And he was the prick who ignored her. More than anything else, _that_ made him want to cry.

The crunching of the dried grass beneath their feet was the only noise to break the suffocating silence. Actually, that wasn't true. The silence between Hermione and him was suffocating. The silence between Ginny and Harry was... comfortable. Almost companionable. Even simply watching them, Ron could sense the solace they drew from one another.

His eyes flicked to the sky. It hadn't rained in ages. Ron couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen clouds this color. Even the ferns lining the path were brittle, cracking under the weight of the wind whenever it grazed them.

He had never liked rain. His mother had tried to keep them inside for fear of catching a cold whenever the weather turned foul as children. He supposed that was why he had become so skilled at wizard's chess, but he had still come to associate rainstorms with being cooped up against his will.

But now he thought rain might be okay. It would offer some life, some hope for freshness. _It would bring everything back._

They reached the edge of a large clearing before stopping. Taking a brief glance around, Harry settled his frame onto the forest floor, pulling Ginny down with him. He leaned back into one of the trees lining the field and put his arm around Ginny's shoulders, who curled into his side before laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

The invitation to sit on Harry's other side was clear, but Ron felt rather like he needed to keep moving. Sitting in the grass was no different than sitting on the carpet in his room. He had to keep walking, keep ahead of the grief that threatened to settle whenever he did.

He moved around his friend and sister to continue along the path that lined the field in front of them, and sensed, rather than heard, Hermione's footsteps resume behind him.

They walked in silence for another few minutes as the sky grew progressively darker, Hermione still a few steps behind. Staring at the browned path, Ron was concentrating so hard on the snap of the reeds beneath his trainers, it took him longer than it probably should have to realize Hermione was crying. She was quiet, to be sure, and was trying desperately to keep him from hearing, but the sharp sound of their feet and the increasing breeze weren't enough to hide her sniffles.

Ron stiffened, halting his steps and wanting to kick himself. He hated, _hated _to see her cry. Just the sound was enough to send his stomach into a tailspin. After Dumbledore's funeral the year before, he'd resolved to do anything in his power to keep her from lapsing into tears ever again. Of course, he had broken that promise by walking out months later. His heart still clenched painfully at the memory. More than anything, her pleading sobs, entreating him to come back after he'd stalked into the woods - those cries had torn at his heart in a way Harry's reassurances upon his return could never fully assuage.

And here he was, doing it again. _I'm making her cry, hurting her._

He turned around slowly, his hesitant gaze falling on her face for the first time in nearly a week and dreading what he'd see there.

But her stare was fixed on his chest, silent tears pouring down her cheeks even as she swiped furiously at them, attempting to regain her mask of self-composure.

Was it possible for your heart to break simply from watching someone else cry? That another person could single-handedly shatter _your_ person with her tears? Ron was pretty sure it had to be. Because he couldn't imagine a feeling worse than the one that currently had his heart in a vise grip.

She looked absolutely broken. A week of being there for him, and she was falling apart herself. He had seen her cry a lot when they were younger (usually _because_ of him), but he had never, ever seen her like this. Not during the Horcrux hunt. Not at any funeral. Not even during the battle, when they'd thought Harry was dead. She was standing in front of him, shoulders hunched forward, tears staining her cheeks, her whole body shaking violently.

"Hermione," Ron spoke without even realizing it. He could hear his voice crack. "Hermione."

She lifted her face to meet his, and Ron almost stepped back at the depth of the despair written there. The eyes in front of him didn't belong to the Hermione he knew. Gone was the defiant confidence he saw whenever she'd announce the solution to a problem. Gone was the chocolate sparkle she reserved just for him, the brilliant spark he saw in every glance they shared, and which he'd clung to like a lifeline during the long months of the past year. Gone even was the trademark glimmer of self-consciousness, the tiny hint of hopefulness that seemed to infect her every gaze, and which he found so endearing.

In its place, he could find only heartache, brought into stark relief by the tears flooding her eyes. She was drowning, literally, in agony.

He had spent the past week and a half struggling desperately to fight down the hurt, curb the torment inside him. But he had been so busy trying to keep it from seeping into the giant Fred-shaped hole his brother's death had left that he hadn't until this moment realized how much pain he was causing her.

"Oh, Hermione," his voice was little more than a whisper. Why couldn't he just take the two steps to reach her and bury her in his arms? Why, _why_ was this so hard? The foot between them might as well have been an ocean for all he could do to touch her. He ached to wrap her up as tight as he could, to hug away the pain in her eyes.

But his feet wouldn't move. The pain... that hole... it was widening the gulf between them by the second.

She was still rubbing fiercely at her eyes, struggling valiantly to control her sobs in between breaths. "Ron, I'm fine." She exhaled noisily, choking back more tears. "I'm good."

If he weren't miserable enough to start crying himself, he would have laughed. Fine? She was standing in front of him, her shirt soaked through by her own tears, sobbing too hard to make out more than a three-word sentence, and she was telling him that she was fine?

He could do little more than stare at her helplessly. He had never felt more ineffectual in his entire life.

"I just..." she swallowed, still crying, but keeping her eyes locked with his. "I don't know how to do this."

More tears flowed as she struggled to speak through them. "I _always_ know what to do. But now you've lost your brother, and I just – I can't... I know you need to grieve... grieve yourself... to..." Her voice was halting, interrupted by the sobs she was trying to stem. "I just... you lost your _brother_!" She paused again, taking a deep breath in a last-ditch attempt to steady her voice.

Ron could feel tears prick his own eyes and blinked furiously to keep them from falling. He had never seen someone in more excruciating pain in his life. Even her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange didn't have an effect as gut-wrenching as this.

Her voice was thick and staggering. "I just feel like I'm losing _you_." A fresh wave of tears streamed down her cheeks at this revelation, almost drowning out the whisper that followed. "And I can't do that. You-" eyes overflowing, her face was almost pleading, full of all the love he'd felt for her - and he knew she'd felt for him - in the seven years they'd been best friends. "You can't leave me."

And that was it. Ron didn't even feel the raindrops on his head as he lunged forward. He wrapped his arms around her tighter than he ever had before, lifting her completely off her feet to bring her lips to his. They kissed with all the fervor of their first time, mouths attacking each other hungrily as Hermione gripped his head, raking her fingers through his hair, now wet from the rain falling from the opened sky. Tears blended with raindrops on both their faces as Ron clutched her ever harder, holding her body as close to his as physically possible.

"I love you," he could barely get the words out between kisses. Hermione pulled her face away slightly to look at him in almost grateful relief before starting to cry even harder and moving in for another kiss.

"I love you, too." "Love you... love you... love you." She repeated it over and over in between each frantic kiss exchanged, tears still poring down her cheeks to mix with the increasingly heavy rain.

And all Ron could do was wonder why he hadn't been able to do this before. The love of his life, tucked into his arms, and rapidly filling the gaping cavity Fred had left.

Thank God for rain. Everything might not have been back yet, but the most important piece of his life was. And he vowed right then and there to hold on to her for the rest of it.


End file.
